


wearing thin the heart beneath

by beanpod



Series: holding a heart [1]
Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Disorder, Childhood Friends, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 00:35:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20826419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beanpod/pseuds/beanpod
Summary: Some part of his brain whispers that Hyunwoo’s hugging him like he wants to crawl into Hoseok’s body and stay there—always has, even now, even aftereverything—hugs with such intent Hoseok wants to say,It’s okay, hey, it’s fine, you don’t have to, you’re already taking up so much space inside of me that there’s barely any ofmeleft, but that strikes close to home, too close, and Hoseok would rather hold onto this lie than let go of his oldest truth.





	wearing thin the heart beneath

**Author's Note:**

> title from ruelle's _where do we go from here_, series title's from toby lightman's _holding a heart_ both real excellent songs that may or may have not made me cry for an entire afternoon 
> 
> the past relationship is wonho/hyungwon, didn't want to put it in the tags as not to screw with the whole series' tags
> 
> it's tagged happy ending, but this is not it
> 
> [edit] please notice i've added the anxiety disorder tag

It’s snowing like the end of the world is coming by the time Hyunwoo arrives. He texts Hoseok from the car, sends _just parked down here buzz me in quick it’s cold as fuck_, and Hoseok feels heat prickling at the back of his neck, spreading down his back and down his legs, the backs of his knees.

Suddenly his feet are ten thousand times heavier.

He gets up from the bed, grabs a hoodie from his half-open closet, and pulls it on as he makes it to the living room. By the time Hyunwoo comes out of the elevator, Hoseok has counted fifty-two seconds under his breath, has watched the little green numbers above the lift door’s blinking slowly all the way up.

His skin is crawling and his mouth is dry and Hyunwoo looks like he’s dragged in more snow than the couple of inches currently making a mess in Hoseok’s tiny balcony. He also looks unshaven and pretty much a mess, but Hoseok will take it, the scruffy chin and the ruffled hair and the holes in his sweatpants, tonight and tomorrow and a week from now and possibly ten years down the road.

His hands are shaking in his pockets, Jesus.

Hyunwoo looks up once he’s shaken enough snow out of his hair and jacket, finds Hoseok staring and smiles a little, barely there. “Didn’t wanna make a mess inside,” he says, voice scratchy, dragging his feet towards Hoseok’s open door.

Hoseok shrugs and moves to the side, can’t trust his mouth at the moment. He closes the door behind them with his foot, hears the ping of the lock and joins Hyunwoo in the living room, where he’s folding his jacket over the back of the couch. Hoseok leaves him to it and heads for the kitchen, grabs an extra mug from the rack by the sink and a bag of tea from the cabinet above it.

Hyunwoo walks in as Hoseok pours hot water into the mug. “Have you gotten any sleep these past few days?” he asks.

Hoseok shakes his head. “Not really. Took a shower and watched a bit of TV but my brain didn’t feel like shutting off, I guess.” He turns around and hands Hyunwoo the mug, who takes it with a nod of his head. “I wouldn’t have called if—”

“Hey,” Hyunwoo murmurs gently, shaking his head, “it’s alright.”

They lean against the breakfast bar, quiet for a moment. Hoseok wonders why he feels like a stranger in his own kitchen, why the sight of Hyunwoo standing next to him feels surreal and blurry at the edges, like a dream. It’s just—quiet. Everything is so quiet. It’s weird, living on his own now. Hyunwoo probably feels the same, and Hoseok would ask—except there are some things they don’t talk about, not anymore. He settles for staring at the clock in the microwave, watches a couple of minutes tick by, Hyunwoo drinking carefully from his mug next to him.

The itch under his skin is no longer at the top of his mind, screaming at him to be dealt with. It’s more of a buzz now, quiet and humming under the surface, and Hoseok breathes in a little easier when Hyunwoo moves to drop the mug in the sink and then closes the distance between them. He’s careful about it, slow and uncertain, like if he moves too fast he might set the whole building on fire.

He watches as Hyunwoo braces both arms at either side of him, bracketing him in between his body and the counter. Hoseok looks up at Hyunwoo’s eyes and finds them on him already, brown and warm and tired around the edges. He wants to reach up and press his thumb gently to the corner of Hyunwoo’s eyes, feel the thin skin stretch there when he smiles, and maybe press his lips to them afterwards.

His hands are deep in his hoodie’s pockets, nails digging into his palms, not trusting himself to touch right now.

(There’s something about Hyunwoo and Hoseok not trusting himself with anything when they’re around each other here, but Hoseok’s too tired to care about it. Always has been. Maybe tomorrow, when he’s less of a mess, he’ll think about it—regret it, everything—and move on. Maybe.)

“You look like shit, Hoseok,” Hyunwoo whispers quietly, the air between them still.

Hoseok’s lips twitch. “It’s a good thing you don’t have to charm yourself into my pants because as far as lines go, that’s real shit. And I’ve heard some lines over the years, babe.”

Hyunwoo says nothing but his eyes shine with repressed laughter. Instead, he leans in and lets their foreheads touch, and they both go a bit cross-eyed—Hyunwoo looks so impossible like this, warm and tired and worried under Hoseok’s kitchen lights, smelling faintly of earthy black tea and snow.

Hoseok takes in a deep breath, his lungs expanding beneath his ribs, and the dull hum under his skin intensifies a little, makes his bones rattle and his teeth itch.

He aches deep within him, can feel it starting at the back of his throat and spreading through every nerve ending, seeping into every joint and crevice of his body. He wants to touch, wants to reach up and touch Hyunwoo, wants to mold his hands to the curve of his ribs, the dip of his shoulder blades. Hoseok wants _so much_ it leaves him winded, lights dancing at the edge of his vision, lungs full of painful emptiness. He swallows past the knot in his throat, past the billion words he wants to press to the underside of Hyunwoo’s jaw, and closes his eyes.

When Hyunwoo curls both arms around Hoseok and pulls him close, Hoseok exhales through his mouth and feels like his lungs are ready to give out; all of him ready to give up. He lets Hyunwoo cup the back of his neck with a hand and draw him closer, close enough Hoseok can feel the rapid drum of Hyunwoo’s heart tucked close to his own, even through one too many layers of fabric. Hyunwoo runs fingers through the hair at the back of Hoseok’s head and it’s almost hypnotic, almost.

Hoseok lets him do as he pleases because there’s nothing he would ever deny this boy—this _man_, Jesus, this man who somehow still looks like the person Hoseok fell in love with so many years ago and yet _isn’t_, and if Hoseok could he’d bring the world to his feet, would give him anything, everything—

God, Hoseok wants to give him _everything_.

Hyunwoo’s arms are tight around him, so strong and warm, and Hoseok appreciates the sentiment behind it, but can’t bring himself to hug back. Some part of his brain whispers that Hyunwoo’s hugging him like he wants to crawl into Hoseok’s body and stay there—always has, even now, even after _everything_—hugs with such intent Hoseok wants to say, _it’s okay, hey, it’s fine, you don’t have to, you’re already taking up so much space inside of me that there’s barely any of _me_ left_, but that strikes close to home, too close, and Hoseok would rather hold onto this lie than let go of his oldest truth.

Hyunwoo pulls away first, slowly, like he’s afraid to let go, and it’s moments like this one that break Hoseok’s heart the most. Hyunwoo’s hands are still tucked around the back of Hoseok’s neck and Hoseok’s are still firmly shoved into his pockets. The edge of the counter is digging painfully into Hoseok’s back but it doesn’t matter.

Pain is good, pain makes this all the more real, anchors Hoseok to the ground, to the reality of what is and isn’t between them.

“You should get some sleep,” Hyunwoo says.

Hoseok swallows. “I know.”

“Come on.” Hyunwoo pulls away and Hoseok reluctantly looks at him, holding his gaze, finds Hyunwoo’s trained on him, searching and placating all at once. He drops his hands to find one of Hoseok’s inside his pocket, and Hoseok wants to protest but can’t bring himself to. “I’ll tuck you in,” Hyunwoo says, lips and nose twitching with a smile, and tugs Hoseok towards his room.

Except they don’t sleep.

Hyunwoo leads him into bed and crawls in after Hoseok when he’s done brushing his teeth. (Hoseok doesn’t want to think about it, about the toothbrush he keeps there, just in case, _just in case_, because he’s honestly too tired.)

They lie under the covers curled towards each other, like parenthesis on a white canvas; the empty space stretching between them feels like a punch, it hurts in more ways than one and Hoseok’s lungs constrict painfully in his chest, an unwelcome grip he can’t shake. Hyunwoo finds his hand under the covers, twines their fingers together—like before, like when they were kids—and Hoseok _hates_ him—this—hates it all so much he could cry.

Instead, he whispers, “I’m sorry I made you drive all the way here.”

Hyunwoo shrugs as much as he can, his thumb drawing circles on the back of Hoseok’s hand. “You know I don’t mind.”

“Did Kihyun tell you what happened?”

“He mentioned you got into a fight with Hyungwon.” Hyunwoo’s lips purse a little. “He was downplaying it a little, wasn’t he?”

Hoseok snorts wetly. God, he’s so fucking tired of the tears. “Sounds like him, though. He probably didn’t want you to worry about me.”

“I will always worry about you,” Hyunwoo murmurs quietly.

“That’s truly comforting,” Hoseok says with a crooked smile. Hyunwoo rolls his eyes and Hoseok gets it, he does, he understands what Hyunwoo means. That’s what probably makes it sting more, in a way.

“Maybe Hyungwon wasn’t the one,” Hyunwoo says, tone light. “Things happen for a reason,” he says next, his voice so small Hoseok has to strain to hear it, and he’s sure he could hear a pin drop on the carpet right now without problem.

“Yeah, you’ve been saying that since you were eight years old and I lost my kite at the park,” Hoseok says, using his other hand to wipe a few tears. He’s going to have to flip the pillow soon. “I don’t know, though. I don’t know that things happen for a reason. I don’t know—I just don’t know anymore. It sucks. It fucking sucks.”

“Hey, come here,” Hyunwoo murmurs, tugging on Hoseok’s hand until Hoseok can curl into Hyunwoo’s chest and do all the crying he wants without having to face him.

Hoseok’s tired, so fucking tired, of this, of everything, of feeling like he’s about to burst into a billion particles all screaming out for Hyunwoo—it’s pathetic, it’s so fucking sad, being so fucking in love with your best friend it _hurts_, and Hoseok hadn’t needed Hyungwon to yell it at the top of his lungs to know.

He already knows—he’s known for what feel like eons.

When Hyunwoo kisses the top of his head and whispers everything’s going to be okay, Hoseok tries his damned best to believe him.

-

Kihyun is loud. He’s always been too loud for his own good. Hoseok’s been telling him this since they were ten and Kihyun’s been flipping him off since he learned how to do it without using words. He’s tinkering around in Hoseok’s kitchen, opening and closing cabinets, reading off the screen of his phone to get the recipe right while simultaneously telling it fuck off, he doesn’t need a recipe anyways.

He’s loud and Hoseok’s place hasn’t been loud in months. It feels weird, makes Hoseok’s skin crawl a little.

“Why are you here,” he asks for what must be the fifth time.

Kihyun ignores him as he usually does. He’s inspecting a tiny bottle of vanilla extract. His nose is wrinkled and his reading glasses are slipping down its bridge.

“Kihyun,” Hoseok tries again, desperation under his tongue, “what are you doing in my kitchen at 8AM?”

“I’m trying to make a cheesecake is what I’m doing,” Kihyun says tartly. He puts the vanilla down and fixes Hoseok with a look. They’re separated by the breakfast bar, and Hoseok is acutely aware of how easy it would be for Kihyun to reach across it and smack him in the face. Kind of looks like he wants to. “Once I’m done with it, you are going to get in the shower, get dressed, and we’ll drive over to Changkyun’s because it’s his birthday and he’s expecting us for lunch.”

“I don’t feel like going,” Hoseok mutters.

Kihyun takes a breath in and it seems like it takes forever for him to exhale. He plants his hands on the counter, and when he speaks he’s looking at Hoseok but he also _isn’t_, like Hoseok’s not something his eyes can actually register, like Hoseok’s not even real, no skin nor bones, just—there but not really.

Hoseok’s breath hitches a little—he understands, it’s like trying to looking himself in the mirror.

“I’m done with your pity party, it’s been two fucking months since Hyungwon. I get it, it hurts. I know. But you will not get over it if you stay in your place all fucking day to wallow in your misery where everything reminds you of him.”

But that’s a lie, isn’t it, because there’s very little that actually reminds Hoseok of Hyungwon, the list so short it’s almost painful in a miserable and undeserved way. Hyungwon deserved better than this. Hoseok breathes carefully through his nose and waits it out, because he can see it in Kihyun’s eyes, can feel it in the tension between them, that he’s not done and he’s said what he’s been meaning to yet.

He doesn’t pull his punches.

“Hyunwoo, too, Hoseok? Really? He let me in, you know. Just now. Looks like he was in a hurry to haul ass, and I wonder why.”

Hoseok flinches. He takes a tiny step back, stung, and his fingers close and open, close and open, useless at his side. “I,” he starts, stops to wet his lips. “I don’t—”

“Don’t bullshit me right now, Hoseok. Don’t bullshit yourself.” Kihyun sighs, crosses arms over his chest. “I can’t just sit back and watch you go through this. I refuse.” His face turns gentler, his eyes a little sad, because he _knows_, of course he knows and if there’s one thing Hoseok’s never been good at is lying at Kihyun. “And I refuse to just watch you fade away under the weight of your feelings for Hyunwoo.”

“Oh.”

No one knows, is the thing. No one but Kihyun and he hasn’t mentioned it in the past year, hasn’t had the gut to ask Hoseok if he still feels something. (Because he probably looks like he still does.) If he’s okay. (Because he most definitely looks like he isn’t.) He’s noticed the way Kihyun looks at him when he thinks he isn’t paying attention, though.

Pity is not what he wants. Pity is not what he deserves.

Of course, Kihyun doesn’t care. He’s a little shit like that, never cares about what Hoseok wants. It’s probably why they’ve been friends for so long.

“You’re right,” he says, slowly, and Kihyun’s eyes widen a bit, probably surprised. Hoseok’s a bit surprised himself, too. “You’re right. I just. I don’t know how to get over this, I don’t—” he laughs hollowly, and god, there come the tears again. “I don’t know how not to feel this way. I don’t know how to get over him—I don’t know if I can. I have no idea what it feels like to not feel like this. And you know what, it sucks. It does, but it’s _him_ and I don’t know if I have it in myself to even try to _stop_ feeling this way about him. Do you _understand_ how that feels?”

Kihyun is fuming. In all the years they’ve known each other, there’s only been a handful of moments where Kihyun’s been truly mad and looked at him the way he’s doing now. Anger makes the corners of his eyes look tight, and his shoulders are squared under his sweater. Hoseok understands why he feels that way but is too tired to deal with it. Besides, he’s never been good at confrontation.

He swallows, taking a step back and clenching his fists. “I know you’re mad at me. I’m mad at myself, too. But I don’t fucking deserve to be put through this shit just because I don’t know how to fall out of love with my best friend. Fuck you for thinking I’m doing this to myself on purpose. Fuck you, Kihyun, honestly. Fuck you all because I know you’re all thinking this might be the fucking cake. It’s not.”

He feels winded—his chest too tight, his breathing too fast. He stares at Kihyun and wills him to understand, to at the very least try. Why would anyone think Hoseok’s doing this on fucking purpose? Why’s it everyone makes it like it’s his fault?

He exhales loudly, spreads his hands hopelessly. He pretends his voice doesn’t shake, doesn’t feel as brittle as his whole self. “What do you want me to do,” he asks, almost begs.

“Go take a shower,” Kihyun says, some of the fight escaping him with his next exhale. “You smell all the way here.”

Hoseok takes it for what it is—an olive branch, heck, a whole olive tree—and turns on his heel towards the bathroom.

-

Hyunwoo’s family moves into the neighborhood during winter break, five days before Hoseok’s eight birthday.

Hoseok’s out in the front-yard with his brother building a spectacular snowman when their mom walks out with a tray full of food and says, “I’m going over to the new neighbors’, who’s coming with me?” and that’s how Hoseok finds himself trailing after her on the sidewalk, still clutching a bit of snow between his fingers.

Hyunwoo’s parents are smiley and loud and yet he’s the quietest kid Hoseok’s met. He does smile a lot, though, and he lets Hoseok play with his trucks in his room and they talk mostly about Power Rangers and the video game that just came out but their parents won’t let them play.

Hyunwoo says, “I start school on Monday and I don’t have any friends,” and he’s wrinkling his nose a little.

“I can be your friend, then,” Hoseok says, because it is truly the only solution he can think of.

Hyunwoo grins, “I’d like that, yeah.”

So Monday morning they walk together to the bus stop and sit together on the bus and walk shoulder to shoulder into their second grade classroom and, as if luck would have it, when their teacher introduces Hyunwoo to the classroom and looks over for an empty spot, he points to the empty seat beside Hoseok and says, “There, you can sit with Hoseok.”

Hyunwoo beams all the way to his seat and Hoseok beams back.

**Author's Note:**

> yes, there is more; no, i don't know when; yes, i typed through the tears (or did i cry through the typing); and comments and kudos make the heart do the thing


End file.
